Page 124 of Playing By Ear

“That is fucking dark.” Jamie passed a hand before his own face, looking like a magician’s audience member invited onstage. The white pieces of tape holding on the gauze squares showed at the edges of Perry’s black football eyeshade.

They stood in the empty communal court of Perry’s block of flats. He often practiced dribbling on the grass here, and it was the first place he’d used the white cane unsupervised. Though his neighbors could spy from their rear windows, at least there was no danger of accidentally running into the street.

Besides, being watched had never bothered him. One couldn’t be a referee—or a cam model—and fear the gaze of others.

Perry shook the ball in his hands, rattling the bearings inside. “Let’s start with a bit of dribbling.” He placed it in front of Jamie, then batted it lightly with his own foot to make it jingle. “Reach out and feel it with your toe.”

Jamie tapped the ball briefly, then gave it a powerful kick with his right foot. “Oh, it’s heavy!” He took a tentative step forward. “Where’d it go?”

“Hang on.” Perry walked in the direction he’d heard it travel, sweeping his feet in arcs the way he’d been trained. Luckily the bright-orange ball stood out against the pale-green grass. He kicked it back toward Jamie, who stopped it, then dribbled straight ahead for a few touches before veering to his left.

“I see now why blind players lean forwards,” Jamie said as he handled the ball with what sounded like a deft touch. “Easier to track it with your ears.”

“I suppose it’s instinctive.”

“Well, sound waves are longitudinal, so the angle matters almost as much as the distance.”

A gust of wind whipped up then, carrying Jamie’s words away. As it receded to a breeze, Perry heard a muffled electronic female voice: his phone, reading a notification.

He pulled the device from his trousers pocket.

“Tell your boyfriend to run far away while he still can.”

“Wait, what?” He brought up the message app and found the most recent conversation, from Dalton, the music-writer colleague he’d asked about Jamie’s new agent. He double-tapped the screen.

“You won’t believe this,” the phone recited Dalton’s message, “but Fagan Creative is run by MacKray Enterprises.”

Oh God.

Jamie was circling back now, saying something about the high frequency of ball bearings.

“Yes, those MacKrays,” Dalton’s message continued. “Tell your boyfriend to run far away while he still can.”

“—sound waves are smaller than our heads,” Jamie was saying from across the commons, “so the space between our ears helps our brains figure out location.”

“Jamie, did you hear that?” Perry called out, but his voice was weak with shock.

“Kinda like having two eyes gives us better depth perception. Isn’t that cool?”

Jamie hadn’t heard him.

“I said, isn’t that cool?”

Perry started. “Erm, yeah. Fascinating.”

The pace of Jamie’s dribbling increased. It sounded like he was doing a light trot, quickly picking up the technique.

Perry hurried to intercept him. “Jamie, I need to tell you something.”

“Can it wait a minute?” Jamie said as he sped past. “Kinda in the zone here.”

“It can’t wait,” Perry said, too softly for Jamie to hear.

“Watch, I’m gonnae try a Cruyff turn.”

“Your agent works for the MacKrays!”

“What—auaagh!” There came a jingle, a heavy thump, then a loud groan.